Renaissance
by Congo Shabba
Summary: Why did 'Mione have to move in with -him- of all people? DMHP
1. Welcome to Dying

Warning: Hmm... Not so secret pairing.

Notes: Title from Blind Guardian's song.

**Chapter one, Welcome to dying **

I still can't believe it. I still can't bloody believe it.

When she first told me, I thought I had had a heart attack. She had been so casual about it, she had been so natural, so herself about it. She had told me about it so unceremoniously like there was nothing wrong, nothing special about it. But there bloody was. I wasn't being childish about it, well, maybe a little. But hell, Hermione had bloody moved in with Draco Malfoy himself, the one and only.

Yes, of course, they were good friends now, of course, they got along well, of course, they had lots of things in common, of course, he was having...err...lets' say 'family and personal problems' and needed his friends, needed some company, of course, Ron was dating Lavender, of course, I was living with Sirius, of course, Ginny went to America, yes, of course, they were good friends now, of course, they got along well...

But why did she consider offering Draco Bloody Malfoy to share a flat ? Him of all people ?

For one of the first times, for one of the rare moments, I believed that Hermione had not think it through twice before she acted. Had she thought about it even once ? About how he was an utter bastard ? What went through her mind when she asked him to move in with her ? What went through her fucking mind ? After all that happened, she still went to him and asked him.

And on top of that, she had the bloody guts, well, you know what I mean, to ask me to come over at her, sorry, 'their' new flat for an entire evening. For that bloody Holiday to boot. But. As she said to me on the phone, because for one undisclosed reason, and Merlin forbids if I ever find out how she did it though I have a stinking suspicion, she convinced him to get a phone, he wouldn't be there for the whole evening.

And that about did the trick to persuade me. I would not be seeing him. I would not be seeing Draco Malfoy. I feared some part of me could not take it. I feared some part of me would lose it dearly. That and me owing 'Mione, being best friends since Hogwarts and all, oh, I'd say round ten years or so, that much as visiting her new apartment and putting my...err...reluctances aside.

At least, except from the fact that her, sorry, 'their', I'm really starting to think that I won't ever get used to using that possessive, studio will be overloading with his insufferable perfume, with his unbearable soap scent, with his colossal mess and piles of worn-only-once- yet-hellishly-expensive clothes, or just simply with his lingering presence. I had shivers just thinking about it.

I must have been bloody stoned or pissed to have agreed to such nonsense. Or perhaps Hermione had done a great job at pleading her case. Or perhaps I had felt guilty because we had not seen each other since she had moved in with him and that was about three weeks ago. Of course we had talked on the phone, we even had written to each other but our once Golden Trio was losing its colours.

For, as I said before, Ron was one hell of a oblivious mate. He had bloody went and bloody asked Lavender out. Not Hermione, oh, no, Lavender ! I still couldn't believe he could do such a thing. I thought he had everything figured out on fourth and fifth year with the Krum events but no, the bloody git, of course, it is said with fondness, had not. Instead, he had thought wicked of asking Lavender out for Merlin only knew why.

And I doubted Lavender would have acquiesced to having her boyfriend live with a girl she suspected of loving her possession. And, for what it's worth, Hermione did love Ron, for a long time. Too long of a time, she sometimes said. I can't do anything but smile sadly at her when she talks about it to me. Merlin knew I had my share of consuming love...

And for myself, shamefully, unfortunately I must say, I had not been there for her as much as I would have liked to or as much as I should had. You see, I had managed, by some obscure, unknown reason, to pass my NEWT level Potions. I suspected an old bastard to have something to do with it, after all, he owed me at least that. So, the Auror plans were looking bright.

But then, after I graduated from Hogwarts, just the day after our ceremony, I had already been propositioned to play with some professional Quidditch team. I had agreed even with the Auror plans. And yet, I had, once again, managed to mix studies, practices, matches, promotions, and studies again. And every second of rest I had, well, almost, I greedily took, mostly I slept. I was truly a mess.

Still, I had pulled off finding out time for that bit of romance in my life.

But my life slowed down a little, not much, just enough to ache though. Oh, I still played with the Canons, no trouble there. I even got a job at the Ministry not so long ago when i graduated from Auror Training, no trouble there either. There was just this bit of romance that had vanished from my life. This bit of romance had broken my heart. It had happened so suddenly for it had only brought me joy before.

Valentine's day. It just brought up these bad memories again. I bloody hated it. It reminded me of the five years I spent with that bit of romance. Five bloody years of my life nearly wasted. No, wait, I take that back. Even if it had ended in a worse fashion, which I wondered if there was any, it still would have been worth it. I had been happy there. Truly happy. I had found a place where I belonged. A place where I was loved. That kind of love.

I thought I had found peace, inner peace and harmony. All was well, my heart was overflowed with joy each and every day, every morning when I woke up, because I would be softly kissed awake, every night when I went to bed, because I would be made love to, wonderful love, so tenderly, so lovingly, words could not describe it, and I would be held all night long in strong, loving arms.

I had been happy. I had been too happy. I should have noticed something was going on. Harry Potter, Golden Boy and only, was happy. Yet, happiness was not something usually, notice the understatement here, allowed to said Gryffindor. Death, loss, pain, there were more like it but not happiness, not joy and certainly not love. Yet I had it in the palm of my hand. Or so I thought.

Once again, I had abruptly been brought back to reality. One moment my heart was overly joyous and the other, I had found it crushed on the ground under cold, impassive shoes. I had not tried to pick it up and I had not cried for cries were meant for those who cared but there was no one in that room that cared. I had stared back through those eyes, expressionless, motionless.

I wanted to cry, to collapse, to shout, to punch, to hex, anything to get rid of the pain, the deceit, the sorrows. But I had been strong. I had not said a word, I had not blinked, I had not trembled. Years seemed to have passed before I heard footsteps leaving the room, not hurried one, not unsure ones, calm, composed ones. But what could I have expected ? It was how it was meant to be. It had always been like this.

Why would it had changed ? Because I wanted it to ? Riiight.

I still did not cry when I found myself alone. I still did not collapse. I still didn't break nor shout. I picked up my cloak and also left the room. I left my heart on the floor, almost literally. I left it there to rot and I had not gone there again. From this moment on, my heart went missing, my ability to love was lost, my feelings were put on hold. And no one had pressed that 'play' button ever again.

I hated that bloody day that was Valentine's Day. It brought up just too much, all this pain, this misery, these thoughts I once had. Yes, I once thought of ending my misery by putting a term to my life. I wanted to commit suicide. I had even tried a couple of times. But Hermione was there, even when she learned about Ron and Lavender, even when all was dark for her.

I owed her a lot, and still, I don't think I've come to repay her properly. But I'll make it up to her one day. I'll be there for her. And I buried myself in work, practice and tours and promotions. I did not see the days pass, the weeks, the months. I worked non-stop, I had to. It kept me from thinking. Thinking was bad for me. Thinking just brought that again.

And I lost sight of Hermione. But I wound up trapped in the monstrous, never-ending cycle of work and travel, life I had once wanted and created. I lost her. She was alone and I wasn't there for her just as I had promised her. And yet, she had not blamed me, she had not held a grudge against me. We were still best friends, we were family. Because we had not other family.

And finally, when I thought about it, diner with her would be wonderful. We'll drown our sorrows, our pain, we'll even laugh of it, we'll recall old times, good times, old pranks and tricks, we'll have a great time, won't we ? We would not be alone, left alone to ponder on the meaning of life, of staying alive. Yes, both of us.

Because even if she never did confess to me about those dark thoughts, I knew she had some sometimes. Even if she said she didn't. I knew she thought about death, about her death. I also knew she did not wish to burden me further and talk about it, so little ago had I been saved from this vicious whirlwind. Saved from myself, saved from the world.

------------

Whistling, not suspecting anything, I had Apparated on the front porch not long before seven o'clock. I had knocked three times and waited. And waited. And still, I waited. But I had not been answered. I found that strange but perhaps she didn't hear me ? Perhaps she had told me to come in and I had not heard her ?

I then tried the door and it wasn't locked. I entered and it was dark, I didn't see a bloody thing. I rummaged along the walls to find a switch when I remembered this wasn't a Muggle flat. Groaning, I grunted out 'lumos' but the lights didn't go on. Sighing, I fumbled through my jeans' pockets for my wand and mumbled the same incantation.

I made it through the living room. No signs of 'Mione and it was still dark as Hell. I called her name a few times but all I got was a big, fat nothing. I was starting to get annoyed. I mean, c'mon, 'Mione, stop fooling around and turn on the goddamn lights. Alriiight, breathe, Potter, breathe, you're getting all riled up for nothing. Breathe.

You very well know that that temper has to get under control. You learned to keep it under restraint and you've done great these past years so you can't just lose it because of the lights that aren't bloody opening and of Hermione wanting to play hide and seek in the dark with you. You have to learn to discipline yourself. Even if your nerves are frantic and your heart is hysterical. Breathe, Potter, breathe.

I went in the kitchen, still nothing and still dark. Dammit. I skimmed through the room, drawing my lit wand near the walls and several papers pinned on them. I bumped into a sodding chair and swore loudly, rubbing my knee. I felt the table just before me and looked through for some, any, hints of what Hermione was up to. No such luck. Oh, my bad, it was not supposed to be that easy. It never was.

I was just about to cross to the passageway but something on the table caught my eye, something shiny. I had a bad feeling about it though I took it in my hand anyway and approached my hand. Twice dammit. It was something I knew too well what it was, something I did not want to remember, least that day, something I did not wish to see again, let alone touch.

I went to see further in the flat, I passed a corridor with a series of doors. I opened the first one on my left. Her bedroom. It was also dark as Hell and as I raised my wand, I noticed that her bed was neatly made. There was no note whatsoever, no nothing. I went back down the hall, a dim light lit up. The door was partially closed and I had no idea what the room was used for. It just called to me. Oh, Hell. I grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it.

Fucking hell.

I knew I should've stayed home in bed and never come here. I knew it was a bad idea. I should've trusted my guts. Next time I'll know better, won't I ? If there was a next time. I wasn't sure how well this was going to go. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. No, make that, absolutely sure. I was completely certain I did not want to be here. On this bloody day to boot. I knew I should not even be here.

Staring back in cerulean eyes.

In blue, and if I didn't know any better, I would've said caring, perhaps even loving and perhaps even remorseful, eyes. But, no, it couldn't. I knew better after all, I knew all about them. I knew their tricks, their lies, their pretensions. I also knew well the person to whom they belonged. And I knew care, love and remorse were not right in them. Not right at all. This whole thing was complete and utter shit.

There was only one thing on my mind. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted to go back home. I wanted to go to bed, perhaps to smother myself in my sheets. I wanted to hide beneath them. I wanted to forget this day. I wanted to sleep and wake up February the 15th and take a cup of coffee, read the newspaper, spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. I just wanted to forget those eyes.

Or at least pretend. But something in my mind told me it would not be so easy. Still, I took a chance and swiftly turned on my heels. I clutched the knob again and just when I started to make the first and last step, something stopped my every move. I even held my breath. My heart was frantic, my whole body was trembling. But my lips were tightly pursed. My face was hard, closed like I last saw the one before me.

I my breath hitched a bit. I tried to not smile or soften my gaze. I tried to keep my heart from fluttering foolishly. I tried to keep my eyes from watering unnecessarily. How long had it been ? Over a year. Had it been this long ? I didn't know anymore. I had lost any notion of time. I had just kept living, moved on, tried to get my life back together. I tried.

My heart leaped up as I failed to keep it under control. He did not seem to notice though. His eyes were wide with surprise and shock. It looked too genuine for me to think it had been one of his cunning plans. And yet, some part of me thought it was again some sick scheme. Guess old habits are difficult to break. As it is hard to regain one's trust after it is broken.

Still, I couldn't keep my eyes from scanning his beautiful traits, his pale, gleaming body, his long, damp, golden hair, his glowing eyes. He had stilled his every movement. He had a single towel wrapped around his waist that rode low on his hips. He blushed a little and tried to lift the sheet up. I gave in there. I hated myself for it. I smirked at that, an amused smirk but not a harsh one.

He was still as gorgeous as I remembered him to be, and even more. I couldn't help but think it was a wonder he had chosen me of all people. And then, I remembered he broke me, he shattered me. I smiled again sadly. He seemed to be well with his life now. There were no dark circles nor wrinkles on his face. There were no shadows over him. Only a bit of concern and worry. But he seemed well. Too well.

And it pained me for I had secretly wanted him to suffer just as much as I did. But I should have known better, he was after all the one to end this relationship. Yet, one can't be reproached for hoping, even for a fool's hope, even for a vengeance, can one ? Yes, I had begrudged him a long while, I even thought I hated him. But I should've known that I could never hate him.

Seeing him again only brought up old memories, old feelings, old love. Love that never really left my heart and soul, love that would never die. I guess it just had a nice nap and had awaken again. And I couldn't stop this heart-warming feeling from coming up. I couldn't prevent my lips from twitching a bit. But fortunately, I soon reverted to my cold, composed attitude.

I thought I had seen his face light up then fall. Must you be imagining things, Potter?

A veil of presumed pain ghosted over his blue, shimmering eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something. I tried to sense his feelings or anything else coming from him. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I felt him struggle with his words in his mind, I felt him consider what attitude to use, I felt his heart tighten with emotions.

And then, it happened.

Only one word was uttered. Spoken in a soft, calm tone. A warm tone. Not the one I expected. Not the one I last heard. But the one that melted my heart the first time. The one those three words had once been voiced with, over and over again. The one I fell in love with, the one that told me those feelings were reciprocated, the one I thought I'd never hear again.

And yet, there it was. And it had spoken only one word. But it was already filled with warmth, with care, with love, with fondness, with remorse also, and with apologies. I hated that tone when I used to love it, loathed that tone when I used to cherish it. And yet, there it was. And it had spoken only one word.

Harry, it said. Harry. My name. Me. Harry.


	2. Knights Are Not All Dead

Chapter two, Knights in shining armour are not all dead  
  
I took deep breaths, long, profound ones. I thought I had lost my mind. Reality was slowly catching up on me. He was there. He was in my room. I could not believe it. Yet he was there. He was no supposed to be there. He was supposed to be a some Muggle restaurant with 'Mione, not here, in my bedroom, with myself half-naked.  
  
Still, I could see him with my own eyes, I could feel his presence, the warmth that filled me, the love that filled me. And yet, there was sadness, remorse in my heart. I saw a veil of pain ghost through his eyes before he copied my once-and-now-lost expression. The cold expression, the detached look I had once worn. The pursed lips I had once had when I had told him those things, those horrible things.  
  
I didn't want to tell him that, with all of my heart, I hated myself for doing this to him. It pained me dearly. And, yet, I had done it. Why ? Often had I asked myself these questions. Why did I feel I needed to break him like I was afraid he would break me ? Why did I had to shatter the only thing in my life that made sense ? Why did I ruin the only part that made me happy?  
  
Exactly, because it made sense.  
  
It was too simple, too easy. I loved him and he loved me back. We loved each other, we were meant to be. It was all there was. Still, I was afraid. Afraid of losing him, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of my life finally turning around, afraid of my life finally being simple, afraid of my path already laid beneath my feet, too noticeable, too obvious. I had thought there was a catch. Yet there wasn't.  
  
Or rather I created the trap. I killed myself that day. I killed my life. I killed my heart. I had turned into a bloody murderer. Everything around me crumbled. I had not expected things to go this far. I had expected a little adjustment to be in order. But nothing of the sort. Oh, no. Much, much, much worse awaited me. Nothing of what I could have imagined.  
  
Pain, horrible pain burned through my flesh, through my heart, my mind every single moment. Remorse, regret every single second I went through. When I was awake, when I dreamed, just every bloody time. When I closed my eyes, when I opened them. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, my reflection just bloody sneered at me in disgust.  
  
It was bloody unbearable. I just wanted to go to him and beg him to forgive, or to, at least, let me make him forgive me, let met make it up to him. But I just couldn't. I knew he hated my guts for doing, for ending this dream we both thought it'd never end. I knew he hated my guts for breaking him like I was afraid he would eventually break me.  
  
During almost a year, I just moped around in the Manor. I had become some dead corpse just walking around, crying, simply being miserable. Both Mum and Dad tried to cheer me up. Yes, you heard alright. Both of them. Even the great Lucius Malfoy. I loved my dad a lot, I looked up to him. He was a good dad, didn't beat me up, didn't punish me, didn't force me to join the Dark Lord's ranks.  
  
He was even working for the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore himself.  
  
And then, some friend that I should not have forgotten and yet I did, owled me one day. Hermione Granger. A mudblood like I called her in the old days. Still, during the sixth year, somewhere near Christmas, we had become friends. I don't really remember how. I just remember we did. I just remember I was glad.  
  
Well, perhaps I did remember more. It had been about some love counsels. Not just her wanting my advice, myself also wanting hers. The Sex God of Slytherin was having troubles figuring this one out. It was not something he had planned nor wanted. It was not something expected, not at all. And it was not something he understood. He was having a hard time with his 'problem'.  
  
He had bloody fallen for Golden Boy himself.  
  
Well, I did not come to that conclusion that fast. Hell, I didn't even considered that it could be it. All I knew was that I wanted to shag Potter senseless time and again, all night long, all life long. And I also knew that it was bloody hard to control those raging teenage hormones whenever I saw him, whenever he insulted me back, whenever he snapped back, whenever we fought.  
  
It turned me on nonsensical. I had a load of cold showers back then. And I just couldn't bloody believe it. I hated him for turning me like this. It was I, myself who usually toyed around with others. I seduced, not a difficult job to be there though, shagged hard and discarded after. I broke hearts, I used, abused though I never raped as you can't rape the willing, I was the Sex God of Slytherin for crying out lout.  
  
Yet I was haunted by him. By the Boy Whom I Always Had Hated, by the Boy Who Was a Virgin. But then again, one would never know; Potter did like to turn the tables around, to impress and surprise and do everything opposite of what everyone thought he would do. Heh, that'd be something dear Snape would say...  
  
I hated this. I hated him. I hated myself. I couldn't take it anymore. I dreamed of him every single sodding night, I daydreamed of him, I thought of him, I saw him everywhere, even in my soup, literally. And they weren't just naughty thoughts or wet dreams. Of course, I had had my share of them, no worries there, but there were others. Even more disturbing.  
  
I dreamed of flower fields and beaches and mountains and magical dawns and sunsets and starry nights and light rain showers and snow too. And I dreamed that I was holding his hand, stroking his face and cuddling with him and kissing him tenderly. I dreamed of candlelight diners, of lazy weekend mornings, of late night beach walks, of stolen kisses in school corridors or even public display of affection.  
  
He haunted me. His face, his eyes, his lips, his smile, his laugh. Everything about him.  
  
I told her all of this, I was showing myself vulnerable here and she laughed. She had bloody laughed in my face. I had been pouring my feelings there and she thought it was bloody funny. Damn her. I remember standing up furiously but she had clutched to my arm and smiled softly. I knew then she had not meant anything unpleasant by it.  
  
She had just been amused as she had told me herself. She had said I was slow to catch up on something that was that overly obvious. Candlelight diners, of lazy weekend mornings, of late night beach walks, she had listed them again and again with that all-knowing tone she often had, her eyes twinkling brightly. She had itemised them over and over again.  
  
When I asked her why she kept repeating herself, she just looked at me and said them again. I think it took me at least an hour to finally understand where she was going with this. It had taken me a bloody hour of her retelling those dreams and thoughts, of her eyes laughing at me, of her eyes gazing at me knowingly with kindness, with compassion. With friendship also.  
  
Because that day we became friends. We became good friends and we still are. Friends with a Mudblood as I would have called her before. But not anymore. I respect her, I look up to her, pity that Weasel's too much of a fool to see how great she is. I would've even considered courting her myself had I not been completely infatuated with our lovely hero.  
  
And when my eyes had lit up in awareness, I had growled out in frustration. This was not supposed to happen. I was not falling in love with him. No, she had said, I was not falling in love with him. I had sighed in relief. I was already in love with him, she added. I had snorted at her comment. She had chuckled again. Then, I had knocked my head senseless on the table. I had even wanted to cry my hopelessness.  
  
For I knew not even a Malfoy could disregard love as it was.  
  
Father had taught me that even Malfoys, as the powerful and grand wizards that they are, cannot escape love when it was laid on our path. He loved my mum deeply and she loved him back with an equal share of passion and feelings. Both had said to me that one cannot flee their fate or the love bestowed upon it.  
  
She had laughed again when I told her this. She had muttered something about the undeniable and most annoying Malfoy pride though her eyes were glowing, amused. She said she was glad we were on good terms now. And she even dared to compare me, Draco Malfoy, with the Weasel. I had been most outraged but she had just chuckled and smiled sympathetically at me.  
  
I confided in her what I thought about love and devotion and care. I told her that despite what everyone would think my parents were very much in love. Yet, it scared the shit out of me. I did not like the thought of being attached to someone for a life's worth, of wanting to only be loved and love one person, of having these cares for someone else.  
  
She had told me she thought it was just a bit of insecurity, fear of losing someone dear to me, fear of being broken by someone I held close to my heart. She had told that I had become the Sex God of Slytherin because of theses worries, these doubts. She even casually brushed off the comment I was about to make about the Malfoy pride or charm or everything.  
  
It took about another hour of heart pouring and confidences and secrets to 'convince' me of that the love I bore for Hero was right and would prevail. She had been very convincing. Though she needed not. Because from the very first moment I realized it was love, I was won over. I craved to know and feel this love everyone talked about, I yearned for someone to love me back.  
  
Then, at last, I had asked of her one last favour after listening to my ramblings. And she had agreed to help me seduce him. She said that she thought it would ultimately be the best thing for him. He needed this, he needed love and care in his life, he needed tenderness, more than any she, the Weasel, Dumbledore or even the Weasel Mum could give him. He needed to feel love and she had not doubts that I was the one to give him this.  
  
But my heart and soul were not that sure of themselves.  
  
Of course, there was the issue of him playing for the other team or not though 'Mione said he was at least playing for both or he was completely gay. He had not had any serious relationship though he dated that Chang girl, ugh, and the Weaselette a bit also. 'Mione said that it truly wasn't a problem because either he was into boys or I could seduce into boys with the Malfoy charm. She ha had an evil smile when she said that. Hell, it even scared me.  
  
Then, there was the issue of me being a Slytherin, of being the son of a Death Eater. 'Mione said that it was not a problem either. As long as I could prove to him that I could be trusted and did not want to partake in Lord Voldemort's wicked plans, I would be alright. The question was how to prove him that. I had no bloody ideas. Well, perhaps there was this one...No, no...  
  
For Father was part of the Order, I could not jeopardize the delicate situation. Of course, this was Harry Potter we were talking about but I knew it could endanger him and even Mum. For the Dark Lord did not know of this secret agent that was double-crossing him and had not event he slightest doubts about him. Dear Severus was another story. I heard he was being suspected and closely watched.  
  
She said I could let Harry read my mind or interrogate me under the Veritaserum or both even. However, I told her I was well-versed in Occlumency and Legislemency for that matter, she told me 'then let your bloody walls down', I told her Veritaserum had no effect whatsoever on me, a bit like the Imperius had no effect on him, she then told me 'Harry doesn't know and doesn't need to know if you speak the truth anyway'.  
  
Cunning. I had to say I was genuinely impressed by her. I liked that evil, wicked, scheming side of her. I was surprised she was not Sorted into Slytherin. But then, she said that it was for the greater good, in other words, for Harry's happiness. She was doing this only for him. Because he needed this, he deserved this, the World owed him at least this much. If I was the right one to give him that...  
  
In my heart, the Malfoy confidence was slowly vanishing.  
  
It took about a week to convince myself to make a move. 'Mione had said to being with little things, things that Harry could think he misheard or imagined but there would be too many for him to deem them coincidences or illusions. Little things, she had said, were the most important for Harry. I did not need to get out the Cinderella carriage, whatever that was, nor the crystal slipper, yeah sure, whatever you say, dear.  
  
I remember bumping 'accidentally' into him, picking up his books and apologizing. I remember stopping throwing names at Hermione, smiling at her and actually calling her by her name although I had a hard time with the Weasel, I mean he couldn't see the great girl right on front of him, head over heels for him and he was such a git, but the Weaselette, I could deal. Though she looked at me funny sometimes.  
  
I thought that Hermione had slipped. Or perhaps I was too damn obvious. But Harry did not seem to notice anything except the fact that I was being civilized for the first time after we had officially become sworn enemies. I could not help but remark that rare smile he had and gave to me, oh, it only lasted a fraction of second, but it was there. The prettiest smile I had ever seen. Damn, that sounded ridiculous.  
  
It lasted perhaps two weeks of pleasantries and new relationships. To some eyes, it could have been just friendly gestures, courteous manners, just signs that I wanted to amend my faults. Then, to others, it was apparent, plain unmistakable but I knew it was far too obvious. I mean, how many boys would bloody hold doors for another boy ?  
  
I had this seducing plan all mapped out with Hermione, cunning that girl, I still maintain that. So I would flirt with him but not that out-there and let's got shag like rabbits exposed flirt. I did not want him to see me as the superficial bastard he had always considered me as. Not anymore. Because I wasn't truly like that, I had standards in spite of everything. An act, you know.  
  
And thus, the Malfoy Charm was back in business. But as others would have thought, the Malfoy Charm was not a smutty attitude, it was a courteous, chivalrous, elegant, gallant one. The same one medieval knights in shining armour expressed for their beloved ones on the balcony and their beautiful dresses and long, shimmering hair. It was to be a delicate, subtle, graceful approach.  
  
And so it would be, and so it was.  
  
I would cock my head to the side, I would tuck back a strand of hair behind my ear, I would even touch his forearm when I'd talk to him, I would lick my lips, touch my lips, nibble on the bottom one, I would give him the "megawatt smile", I would wink at him or I would stare at him long enough to get caught by him and then quickly look away...  
  
And Harry, well, he amused me greatly but with no malice hidden udnerneath, for he would blush thoroughly when he would catch me gazing at him, when our eyes would meet. He would stiffen sharply when my fingers'd grace his flesh, when I would touch him, he would stare openly at my mouth when I'd lick my lips, he would follow my hand tucking my hair.  
  
I was very much delighted he was responding so quickly to my flirting, smiles, touches, gazes. I knew I would be far too obvious had it been someone else but Harry, he was someone else, someone unique. I don't think he knew what he was falling into until our first kiss and, therefore, almost everyone knew about this, about us, before him.  
  
So, first step was mission accomplished. He was, at least bit, physically attracted to me. Then, 'Mione convinced me of pushing it a notch further. Talk to him, make friends with him, study with him, practice with him, duel with him, help him in Potions, shop with him even...Anything, she had said, bloody anything. As long as I could get some one on one time with him. She was a damn forceful one, that girl.  
  
Hence, I had sent him a note by owl one day, asking him to meet me at the Astronomy Tower, no comments, round midnight. I had apologized to him for those years of fights and insults. I had even confessed that I had no intentions of joining Voldemort, that I wanted to help him. I had told him that I wanted us to become friends, to make peace and start off again.  
  
He hadn't laughed at me, he hadn't smirked, he hadn't turned away, he hadn't left. He had simply asked me why he should trust me, after all, I was Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, and expected Death Eater to be. He had asked me why I wanted to be friends with him when we could just cease fire and be done with it. Fair enough.  
  
At that point, my hands were trembling, hell, my whole body was shaking. Though he did not seem to notice. He was staring intently in my eyes as if seeking for something in my mind. I smiled a bit at that. I rummaged through my pockets as my still frantic fingers curled around a small vial of glass. The coolness clamed me down a bit and I showed it to him.  
  
Arching an eyebrow in confusion, he took it in his hand and turned it around a couple of times when his lovely eyes lit up in understanding. He stopped for a moment as if pondering if this was a good idea. Finally, he gave it back to me, his eyes soft, his face calm. I breathed deeply and took three drops. The cool serum tingled my tongue as if I had took three drops of water.  
  
I asked him to ask me again the same questions and I had answered them sincerely, meaning them with all of my heart. My heart was fluttering nervously and then, at some point, I lost control of my words as if the potion had truly had an effect on me though it could not have had any consequence whatsoever on myself.  
  
I didn't know what had happened; I just lost control, I gave in, whatever, whichever but I just did. I professed the undying, powerful love I was bearing for him, I admitted the dreams I had about him, how I wanted to hold him, to caress him, to kiss him, to love him simply, I confessed that I was desiring not only his friendship but also his love.  
  
And he did something I had not expected, not at all.  
  
He bloody laughed at me. 


End file.
